


The Truth is Stranger Than My Own Worst Dreams

by knopeswann



Category: Wonder Woman (2017)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blame Lord Huron for 1100 words of pain, Diana post Steve's death, F/M, Honestly I am so sorry because this hurts, I'm still in denial that Steve died though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-20 18:01:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11340549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knopeswann/pseuds/knopeswann
Summary: It had been so long since she'd seen his face, and yet she saw it every night.On these nights, she would make a list; a list of all the good things she would like to remember about him.The eyes, the hair, the smile, the laughter.The loving.Oneshot.





	The Truth is Stranger Than My Own Worst Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize in advance, honestly. I wrote this during my hour dinner break at work because I couldn't get this very sad idea out of my head. 
> 
> Title is taken from Meet Me in The Woods by Lord Huron, aka the song that inspired this cursed fic.  
> I hope you enjoy! (If you're masochists like me, apparently)

_"I have seen what the darkness does, say goodbye to who I was._  
_I ain't never been away so long, don't look back, them days are gone."_

* * *

 

She awoke with a start, damp sheets tangled around her legs and long hair sticking to her sweat covered back. 

Again. Lately, she seemed to be waking like this more often than not. _Ever since_ , she thought.  Ever since she saw that fireball in the sky.  Ever since the remains of an exploded plane had rained down upon the earth, an explosion that saved them all.  Ever since that explosion took Steve Trevor.

Now and then, her dreams of him were pleasant; a lullaby singing her to sleep. She dreamed of the way he laughed, full bodied and rich and infectious, reaching from those beautiful blue eyes all the way down to his toes.  She dreamed of that hair, always hopelessly flopping into his eyes, and how he would aggressively push it aside when he was frustrated.  She dreamed of the way he talked, the tenor of his voice drifting through her mind. Always full of passion and emotion, yet somehow of great rationality and calmness. A balance she had yet to perfect. She wished she could have learned from him.

Sometimes, she dreamed of being in his arms.  These dreams were truly just memories, precious and desperate to be remembered perfectly.  How it felt to dance with him, her body impossibly close to his as they swayed in the chilly night air.  His hand on the small of her back, pressing firmly to keep her as close as he possibly could.  How his breath came out in small puffs that tickled her cheeks and sent shivers up her spine.

These dreams always shifted then, to the moment he closed the door to her room.  They never spoke of what they had wanted that night.  It was conveyed with the wanting in both of their eyes, the knowledge that tomorrow could be their last- that tonight was for being close to someone, while they still had the chance. There was no hesitation, despite what Steve had spoken about "assuming outside the confines of marriage" the first time he had slept close to her body. No, that night there was no hesitation, but a soft urgency, as if they would both spontaneously combust if their bodies did not meet.

The kisses were fervent and hungry, a reminder that time was their enemy.  If that night was all they would be getting, then they would damn well take advantage of every opportunity.

She remembered the second time he slept next to her body.  The heat between them as their bodies swayed together.  The way he held onto her, as if letting go would be the very end of his life. How he had he kissed every inch of her body, worshipping.  His eyes, fixed on hers as he hovered over her and moved inside her. The determination to show that just maybe, men could be useful when it came to pleasure.  He certainly proved himself that night.

She remembers how they had held each other's bare bodies afterwards, not speaking much, for words seemed inadequate compared to the conversation they had just shared between their skin.

These were the best dreams, though it still hurt to wake in the morning, finding herself alone once more. But the waking did not hurt nearly as much on these mornings as it did on most.  The mornings- or nights, really- where she would awake with tears in her eyes and a pain in her heart.  Because what she saw most often was how he had left her.  She could hear those last words in her head, the words she said that fell onto deaf ears, his mind already made up. The words he had spoken to her, knowing that they would be his last. She saw it time and time again: him running towards the plane, running to his death.  Each time, she tried to reach for him, to follow. To stop him. To tell him that _please, don't do this, I love you too, please don't leave me_. But each time, she never made it. She watched him die, over and over and over again.  This, she remembered most vividly.

On these nights, she would make a list; a list of all the good things she would like to remember about him. 

 _The eyes,_ _the hair, t_ _he smile, t_ _he laughter._

_The loving._

She always hoped that this list would plant the good memories in her head as she drifted back to sleep.  She prayed that her mind would let that seed grow and blossom, and only give her pleasant dreams tonight.

But the list usually proved to be about as helpful as the sheep Etta had suggested she try counting.

Tonight, Diana knew which dream had awakened her; the dream she suffered from night after night it seemed.  She pulled her knees close to her chest, burying her weary head in her hands.  It had been so long since she'd seen his face, and yet she saw it every night. Her body shook with sobs, sobs that exhausted her very being.  She was a god. She could _kill_ a god. And yet her own mind was slowly killing her. 

She didn't remember when she drifted back to sleep.  It felt like years, it could have been hours.

Again, he visited her, drifting into her mind's eye like the early morning mist. But this was no memory.

_"Diana," he whispered._

She could see him so clearly now, and moved closer, until she could touch his face. He felt cold, so cold.

_"You're dead."_

He shrugged his shoulders; no use to sugarcoat what they both already knew, _"Yes."_

_"Why did you do it? You know that I could have survived that gas, you saw me do it! If you had let me stop the plane, then you would still be here."_

He sighed, knowing that nothing he said could change how she felt.

 _"I told you, sweetheart, it had to be me. I wish that it didn't. But you were the only one who could stop a god. You know this,”_ he smiled sadly, his expression filled with the regret of what could have been, “ _The only thing I ever wanted was to make you happy. It kills me to see you in pain every single night. I loved you so much,"_ he paused, looking around, _"I still do, wherever here is."_

Tears began to fill her eyes as she brushed his hair away from his forehead.

_"I love you too. I wish I could tell you every day."_

_"I know. I knew then too.  Please rest, Diana.  The world needs you. I love you,"_ he put his arms around her and placed a light kiss upon her forehead. He began to fade then, drifting out with the mist and the dream as the dawn approached.

* * *

 

She awoke with the natural rhythm of the morning.  Strangely, she felt the ghost of a kiss upon her head, and her brow softened.

For the first time in a long time, she did not recall her dreams.


End file.
